


Secrets and Sins

by PetitMinou



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Identity Reveal, Secret Relationship, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetitMinou/pseuds/PetitMinou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 1: Secret Dating.<br/>Marinette hadn't ever planned on falling for the stray cat she adopted by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret Dating

**Author's Note:**

> This one got away from me, the rest will be much shorter. And they're all connected so I'll post them all as chapters of one fic rather than as a series.

“So, what exactly are we?”

Marinette doesn’t look up from her desk and her physics homework, but she heaves a sigh. She’d been dreading that question because she has no answer for it. She waits until she hears the sharp inhale that means he’s getting ready to speak again.

“You tell me,” she interrupts him, putting down her pencil and spinning slowly in her desk chair. She can only see the back of his head from where she is under the loft, since he’s currently hanging upside-down with his knees hooked over the railing. Still, she can see the way his tail twitches and one ear twists uncertainly.

He’s actually really worried about this.

She gets up and pads around to face him, unable to stifle a giggle at just how red his face is. He quirks an eyebrow at her, ears going back (they’re almost lost in his cascade of golden hair, and she giggles again).

“I thought you were the stray I fed and now I can’t stop you from turning up,” she says lightly, but he doesn’t smile. “I don’t know. What do you think we are?”

His green eyes flicker, tail waving nervously behind his back. “I don’t know.”

In a quick motion he curls up, catching the railing of her loft and hauling himself back upright. He crouches there in the dark, eyes glowing, and Marinette plants her hands on her hips as she watches him.

“What’s got you so nervous, _Chaton_?” She sees his jump, and sighs. He still doesn’t seem to realize how expressive his ears and tail can be. Especially in times like now, when the former are flattened tight to his head and the latter lashes back and forth across her bed.

He looks away and down, gaze flashing to the pinks of her bedspread before he meets her eyes again. “Are we…friends?”

Not for the first time she wonders at the hesitance in his voice. What kind of life did he have, behind the mask, if he’s so nervous about asking? “Of course we’re friends,” she answers without hesitation. “I wouldn’t keep letting you in if I didn’t like you at least a little bit.”

Her tone is light and teasing, and finally he responds with a grin. “Only a little bit, Princess?” he drawls, leaning forward. “Now I know you’re making fun of me. No one can resist my charm.”

She snorts, loudly. “The puns cancel out any charm you might have.”

He clutches his chest in mock hurt, and she laughs outright. “Now, are you going to help me with my physics or not?”

He hops down from her loft, landing with a thud that she silently scolds him for. He seems unrepentant, and she huffs as he starts explaining the problems she was stuck on. If she didn’t know her kitty so well, if she didn’t see the way his ears still angled back, the tension around his eyes and in his shoulders, she’d think the topic was dropped.

* * *

Chat Noir turns up on her balcony about every other day. Marinette liked to joke about him being a stray she’d adopted, but it was truer than either of them let on. She’d never gotten an answer on why he’d clattered down on her trapdoor that rainy evening halfway through April.

He’d seemed tense and stressed, and she couldn’t resist the urge to care. To pull him inside, provide him with warm cookies and a listening ear he had yet to take advantage of. But he’d turned up three days later with (surprisingly expensive) chocolate for her and a sheepish smile. The day after that he’d brought his history textbook and asked if she minded him doing his homework at her place. Something about his room being “too cold” (she’d again decided against questioning that on such a balmy night).

After that he turned up at random intervals, but never stayed away for more than a few days. That had been the status quo for just over a month when things started to change.

* * *

Marinette was expecting a follow-up to that conversation, though she hadn’t been expecting it the very next night.

“So you’re okay with being secret friends with a superhero?” he asks, leaning over her where she’s stitching at a new design, and the warm breath against her neck makes her jump and jab herself with a needle.

She glares at him, sucking her wounded finger. “Yeah, as long as he respects my personal space,” she retorts, shoving him back a bit with a finger on his nose.

He blinks, and she yanks her hand back, cursing her own carelessness. She’d done that to him so many times as Ladybug, he’s smart enough he could easily make the connection—

He doesn’t, leaning away from her with a smile. “You don’t mind having to keep secrets?”

She stabs herself again and swears, much to his amusement. Keeping secrets? Compared to the secrets she’s been keeping for the last year, this is _nothing_. “No, I don’t mind.”

He persists, leaning over until his head is almost in her lap, blocking her view of her fabric again. _He’s such a cat sometimes._

“You don’t mind that you don’t know my real name? Or what I really look like?” he asks seriously.

She puts her project down, granting him her full attention. “I don’t mind,” she says slowly, firmly. “Because I still know _you_ , _Chaton_.”

He blinks at her, and she smiles down at him and pets his hair.

* * *

When Chat Noir turns up on her balcony three days later, Marinette is pacing her room, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Someone’s happy this evening,” he comments, sticking his head down through her unlocked trap door. “Good day at school, Princess?”

She looks up and absently waves him in, smile widening as he carefully avoids getting any spring muck on her bed. “Today was _amazing_!”

“Really? Care to share details?” He seats himself on the edge of her bed, a soft smile tugging at his lips that gives her momentary pause. She’s seen that look before, but only when she was Ladybug.

But today has been too wonderful for her to dwell on it for long. “My crush talked to me today,” she bubbles, pausing on the way past him to tweak his tail. “And he said he wants to hang out this summer, _and_ he gave me his phone number!”

She waves the much-folded and –refolded piece of paper over her shoulder, before she realizes he didn’t actually know she likes someone. She glances up guiltily, and isn’t at all comforted by the shocked expression he’s currently wearing.

“Your…crush?” he asks slowly.

She rubs the back of her head sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, sorry.”

For a second she wonders if she hurt him, if maybe he hadn’t been kidding with his constant flirting and bad pick up lines. But then his face breaks into a wide grin and he hops down in a sudden burst of energy. “That’s great!”

He sweeps her into a hug that lifts her feet off the floor, spinning her giddily. “I’m happy for you,” he says seriously, and he really looks it. For a second Marinette is scarce inches from dancing green eyes and a sharp-toothed smile, before he seems to realize what he’s doing. He clears his throat awkwardly as he sets her down. “Sooo…tell me about him?” he asks, seating himself on her lounge, and she laughs at his hopeful expression.

“Are you sure, _Chaton_?” She answers his question with a question, picking up her diary box from her desk and slipping Adrien’s number into it. She clicks it shut and pads over to stand in front of him.

He looks up at her, ears perked. “Of course I’m sure. I want to know about anything that makes you this happy, Princess.” He’s looking at her in that soft way again, and she shifts her weight, unsure of what it means.

“Well.” She sets her box down beside her as she sits, a healthy space between her and the leather-clad superhero. “His name is Adrien Agreste—“

She jumps as his belt-tail thwaps against her back, simultaneously sending her box clattering to the floor. He pins the unruly limb with both hands, a blush just visible under the edge of his mask. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking so ridiculous that she can’t help but laugh at him.

He laughs with her, releasing his tail and scooting a little closer. She takes a deep breath, continuing from where she left off. “He’s in my class, and he’s a model…”

By the time she’s done talking she’s somehow ended up pressed against him, aligned from knee to shoulder, leaning into his comforting warmth and the steady whoosh of his breath. His tail had curled around her at some point, the tip occasionally flicking against her thigh.

“It sounds like you’re really into this guy,” Chat says, and she looks up at him in confusion. Rather than wistful, he sounds honestly happy.

“You don’t mind?”

He gives her his Cheshire grin. “Mind? Absolutely not, Princess. I mean, the game isn’t much fun without some competition.”

“I am not a game,” she corrects him, and his laugh vibrates through her.

“My mistake, Princess. You should know I would never play with your heart.”

A sharp-taloned finger presses under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. Her heart gives a little skip because he keeps doing that look _why does he keep doing that look_ and if she tilted her chin up just a little more they’d be kissing—

He lets her go and stands, leaving her off-balance both physically and mentally, and bows in his over-dramatic way. “I’ve bothered you long enough, Princess. I’ll leave so you can get started on texting your prince charming.”

Okay, she has his number, but actually _using_ it is an entirely different matter. But her kitty bounds away before she can say anything.

* * *

School ends the next week, and to Marinette’s (quiet) delight her kitten’s visits don’t stop. Instead of doing homework they played video games, or he watched as she scribbled away at new designs or stitched them into reality. She is as comfortable with him as she is with Alya, and she _knows_ this is going to come back to bite her. She’ll have to make him stop eventually, she can’t risk him compromising her identity…but not just yet.

* * *

Mid-July he lands on her balcony with more than the usual clatter. More interesting, he didn’t bounce right down through her trapdoor, and eventually Marinette climbed up to her loft to see what was holding him.

She was not expecting to see him holding a _picnic basket_ of all things, shifting from foot to foot and there is a slight nervous tremor at the edges of his grin. “What are you doing, _Chaton_?” she asks, propping the hand not holding open her trapdoor against her hip. “It’s 11 o’clock at night.”

He offers her a hand up, eyes certainly _not_ straying to her loose t-shirt and boys’ shorts. “I have something I want to show you,” is all he says, and this is her kitten, she trusts him implicitly. She ducks back down long enough to grab her purse, with Tikki inside, and allows him to yank her up and onto his back with only a quiet yelp.

He shoots her a smug look over his shoulder. “Hold on. I need both hands for this.”

She nods, linking her arms around his neck and—more hesitantly—squeezing her legs around his waist. He waits for her to settle before extending his baton one-handed, and lifting them both off the roof in a powerful leap.

She barely holds back an exhilarated shriek. She is used to flying across the rooftops of Paris, but the way Chat moves is entirely different. It’s great weightless bounds, catching himself at the downward curve of his arc and using his baton to launch back skyward. She can feel the shift and bunching of lean muscles under his suit, against the bare skin of her legs, and the powerful bursts of his breath in his chest, and this feels closer to true flight than she ever has before. Her eyes water in the wind as he lands lightly on a rooftop before springing off again, and she squeezes them shut.

It takes her a long moment to notice when they stop. It’s only his slightly-breathless chuckle that snaps her eyes open. “I mean, if you want to stay like this all night that’s fine with me,” he teases, and she lets go with a squeak, barely catching herself as she hits the ground.

He steadies her lightly as she takes a moment to survey where they’ve ended up. They’re perched on the eves of one wing of the Palais de Chaillot, looking out over the splashing fountains of the Jardins, toward the Seine and the gleaming Eiffel Tower. She’s seen it before, of course; the midnight skyline of Paris is as familiar as the walls of her own bedroom, but it’s still breath taking.

Chat is looking at her uncertainly, and she remembers that she shouldn’t have seen a view like this before. The smile she turns on him is entirely genuine, though, and his ears perk. “It’s _beautiful_ ,” she breathes, and he turns away with an awkward cough.

“I brought snacks,” he mumbles, leading the way over to the edge of the roof to set down his basket. She seats herself on one side of it, and he flops down on the other. She eagerly pulls back the cover, and laughs. “Got a bit of a sweet tooth, do we?” she asks, reaching in and snagging a shortbread cookie.

“Maybe a little,” he admits, smiling at her and making no move to take a sweet himself.

She grins and looks back to the view, absently taking a bite. It tastes familiar. _Very_ familiar. “You got these from my parents, didn’t you?” she accuses.

He grins, but one ear flicks. “Well, it _is_ the best bakery in Paris…”

She pouts at him, debating whether to be annoyed or not, when something occurs to her. “Wait—you didn’t come in costume—“

“Of course not.” He sticks his tongue out at her.

She returns the gesture, ignores his laughter at the cookie crumbs on her lips, and turns back to the ‘tower, kicking her feet against the edge of the building. She’d worked register that afternoon after school. Had she served him without even knowing? No, she decides, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he takes a piece of fudge and bites into it with obvious delight. She would have noticed a tall blond _dork_ like that.

She turns back the Jardins, fingers tapping at the stone beneath her as she tries not to ponder the warmth that wells up in her chest.

But, he chose to show this to her. Her, Marinette, not Ladybug. Out of all the people in the world, he’s the one most likely to understand. “Do you think it’s possible to lo-like two people at once?”

She keeps her eyes on the tower, but she still sees the way his back straightens, stiffens. He kicks his booted feet for a moment, tail softly slapping the ground behind him. “I know it’s possible,” he says, just as quiet as her.

“A-and, do you think is can still be…okay?” She looks at him, meets his gaze, watches his slitted feral pupils minutely expand and contract.

“I think it can be, as long as you’re honest about it.”

She takes a deep breath, turning towards him and scooting the basket out of her way, rocking up on her knees. “I still like Adrien.”

He mirrors her, though it brings his head up almost six inches higher than hers. “I still like Ladybug.”

She swallows down a flash of something that feels like guilt. “I also really want to kiss you right now.”

He blinks, eyes going wide, and she can’t help but smile because of course her kitty wouldn’t want to assume she was talking about him unless she said it outright. His gaze flickers down to her lips and back up, and she leans in to meet him—

Chat Noir swoops in, pecks her lightly on the mouth, and rears back, blinking nervously while she’s still trying to process what just happened.

Marinette blinks once, twice. “ _Chaton,_ was that your first kiss?” Well, she knows it wasn’t, but unremembered kisses don’t count.

“Um…” he shifts his weight back, ears down. “Sorry?”

She grins, reaching out a hand that he hesitantly takes, letting her pull him up to meet her again. “Want to try one more?”

It’s gratifying how eager he looks, and this time she cups her hands against his cheeks and slowly brings his lips down to meet hers. She’s not _that_ much more experienced than he is, but she knows to take her time.

His mouth is tense and still against hers for a second, then she tilts her head just a bit, parts her lips just so, and he _melts._ His hands find the small of her back, deepening the kiss. It’s chaste, clumsy, inexperienced, their noses bump and she accidentally pulls his hair a bit and he can’t seem to decide if he wants to rest his hands on her back, shoulders, or face, and it’s _perfect._

It can’t last more than a minute, but for Marinette it’s a pulse-pounding eternity and _why_ had she refused his advances for so long? Finally he pulls away with a wrench, gasping in a shaky inhale and leaning his forehead against hers. Marinette whines at the loss of contact, her eyes fluttering open (when had they closed?).

His eyes are open already, searching her face. “You like…me?”

He sounds disbelieving, and she giggles. “And you like me.”

His grin widens, and she knows what he’s about to do a second before he does it. “Don’t you—“

He speaks over her, eyes sparkling. “Princess, would you say I _whiskered_ you off your feet?”

She groans. “I take it back,” she grumbles, leaning away from him.

“Oh, you just want the prestige from secretly dating a superhero, I see how it is.” He doesn’t even try to sound hurt as Marinette laughs.

“I can’t exactly be famous for it if we’re _secretly_ dating, _Chaton_.”

He catches her and draws her into another kiss, effectively silencing her when he captures her bottom lip between his and _oh mon Dieu he’s a fast learner._ He looks way too smug as he draws away, slower this time, and he looks happier than she’s ever seen him. “So is that a yes to secret dating?”

“Yes, you silly cat.”

Somehow in the ensuing wrestling match she ends up half in his lap, tangled together in comfortable silence, occasionally sharing bites of the sweets from his basket, until the tower lights turn off.


	2. Cat Costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Cat Costume  
> Why, exactly, had Alya insisted on _this_ costume?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, later chapters are significantly shorter than the first. They're all more or less interconnected, but these two stand alone fairly well.

Marinette narrows her eyes at her reflection, twisting to look at herself from all angles.

She’s cute. She knows she is. She may not feel like it all the time (who does?), but Alya had been right to insist that she wear this costume. It’s adorable. That’s not the problem.

The problem is the headband with attached faux-fur ears. The problem is the cats’ eye eyeliner Alya had spent two hours perfecting this afternoon. The _problem_ is the fuzzy tail that trails disconcertingly limp behind her legs.

She should never have agreed to this. Alya wanted to throw a costume party to celebrate the end of summer. Why a costume party? Marinette can’t fathom, though she had initially suspected it was a chance to dress up as Ladybug. But then to her surprise Alya announced her intentions to dress as Nancy Drew, and she had _absolutely insisted_ that Marinette dress as a _cat_. And, trapped by her best-friend-forever duty, Marinette had given in.

Alya promised to walk with her to the Metro, but her friend is late, and there’s no way Marinette is walking anywhere alone like this. So she’s left pacing her room, adjusting her black skirt, making a point not to rub her eyes no matter how much she wants to.

It’s only just after dark, there’s no reason to think—

A tap at her round window interrupts her thoughts, and she lets out a completely dignified yelp. No no no _no_ she’s never going to live this down. She briefly considers hiding, but no, he’s already seen her, and yes she would miss her kitty if she didn’t get to see him at all tonight. She groans, resists the urge to run her hands through her hair, and stands on her lounge to open the window.

“Hello, Princess!” He’s hanging upside-down from his baton, the dork, and when she steps back to let him in he grabs the window frame to swing himself through. “Thought I’d come by early, since I’m going to be busy tonight and a certain Ladyblogger told me you would be too—“

He turns to her, eyes bright and smile wide, and stops dead. Marinette waits with arms crossed, feeling no small amount of satisfaction as his jaw drops. “Cat got your tongue?”

That doesn’t seem to help, as he just looks more shocked at her punning. Finally he seems to regain control, mouth snapping shut as his grins. “I never knew you were such a big fan,” he purrs, reaching out to tweak one of her fake ears.

“I’m _dating_ you, you jerk,” Marinette retorts, deliberately not following him with her gaze as he starts to pace around her, apparently taking in every part of her costume. “And anyway, this was Alya’s idea. Since when do you two talk so much?”

He shrugs as he passes in front of her. “She caught me after an Akuma attack for an interview and she happened to mention it. She also said you were my biggest fan, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

She huffs. Okay, she might have mentioned liking Chat Noir more than Ladybug at one point. And there _may_ have been a comment made about his butt and tight leather pants. But leave it to Alya to not only remember those things but to also tell the superhero in question.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp tug at her belt, and she yelps. “Hey!”

He looks entirely unrepentant as she yanks her tail out of his grasp. “Watch it, kitty, or I’ll pull _your_ tail.”

“You wouldn’t.” He doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, bending to bump his cheek along her shoulder like a real cat. “You love me too much.”

She puffs her cheeks in a pout because it’s true she won’t mess with his tail, but _love_ is an awfully…intense word. She waits as he paces around her one more time, claws now catching at her waist and tail entangled with her ankles. When she catches his eyes again she slow-blinks, loving the way his face lights up as he returns the gesture.

“I hear a certain Prince Charming will be there tonight too,” he says lightly, and Marinette flushes at the thought.

“I look silly,” she mutters, and he scoffs at her.

“I’m paws-itive he’ll find you just as adorable as I do, Princess.” She thinks he’s going in for a kiss but instead he rubs his cheek along hers, a purr rumbling in his chest as she leans into the feline gesture of affection.

He does the same against her other cheek, pressing into full-body contact so hard she staggers. She looks up as he pulls away, trying to catch his lips again, and he laughs, tapping her nose with a clawed finger. “No no, Princess, you’re a cat tonight, and cats do this.”

His hands drop to her waist, pulling her in close and she grabs at him for balance. His arms are around her waist and hers are around his shoulders as he rubs his jaw against the top of her head, and he’s definitely knocking her ears crooked but she couldn’t care less because he’s purring so hard she worries he might shake himself to pieces and everything is warm and safe and _perfect_ —

“Marinette, get your butt down here, we’re going to be late!”

Marinette barely registers her best friend’s voice, but luckily Chat reacts. He steps away from her hurriedly, and her arms pinwheel in a futile attempt to keep her balance as she’s suddenly left unsupported.

At least, as she looks up from her new seated position on the floor, she’s not the only one affected. His cheeks are bright pink under the edges of his mask, and he seems to be having a hard time controlling his breathing. He grants her his usual crooked smirk, and she blinks numbly at him.

“That’s my cue to leave, I think. _À plus tard, Princesse_.”

He vaults out the window just as Alya pushes open the door to her room, and Marinette has no answer when her friend demands to know _what_ she was doing to smear her make-up so badly.


	3. Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Sin  
> After a rough Akuma fight, Chat needs to check on his princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to major life crisis this chapter is a day late. Everything is resolved now, in the best possible way it could, so I should get caught up by this afternoon.  
> Also this barely even qualifies as sin. Who put this angst in my fluff.

Chat Noir perches on the roof of his school, tail switching behind him as he pants. That Akuma had been rather worse than usual, though he doesn’t remember much after he’d taken that hit for Ladybug. He doesn’t regret it, of course he never could, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. A lot. Ladybug fixed his injuries along with everything else, but still, shifting his weight sends his heart pounding in his throat with half-remembered pain.

He shivers, curls up. He hadn’t used Cataclysm, he has time, and he’s barely resisting the urge to pounce across the street to the familiar balcony. The light is out, so he can’t bother her…

As if in response to his thought, a lamp flickers on underneath Marinette’s loft, visible through her round window. Marinette crosses in front of the glass, her fingers working at the ties in her hair. It swings loose around her neck as she turns, one hand over her eyes as her head bows.

That spurs him into action, leaping across the gap to land on her balcony. He would knock, he always knocks, but this time he can already see her turning, heading for the stairs up to her loft, and instead he yanks the door open and meets her halfway up.

She’s strong, stronger than she looks, but his greater weight sends them staggering down in a kind of controlled tumble until they reach flat ground and sink to their knees.

She’s safe, of course she’s safe, soft sweet Marinette wouldn’t be anywhere near an Akuma. He pulls her in, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. She’s slightly sweaty, shaking against him as he tips backward, pulling her down. His breath huffs out under her weight, arms slowly tightening until she squeaks a protest.

“Sorry—“ He lets up, only to clamp down again when she tries to sit up. “Wait. Please stay.”

She does, muscles tight for a moment before she relaxes on top of him. He can feel her heart rapid-fire beating against his own chest, breath stuttering and shaky. He’s no better, eyes squeezed shut and arms trembling around her back. Each heartbeat in her chest, under his lips against her neck, each shaking breath calms the panic he’s been fighting since the Akuma’s oversized metal bat had connected with his ribs. She’s fine, fine, _fine_ and he’s here, with her, grounded by her sharp grip against his shoulders.

Slowly his tension drains, so instead of clutching at her back he’s running his hands up and down, trying his best to soothe her shivers. The silence stretches out, allowing a very Adrien part of his mind to twinge with guilt. “I’m sorry, Princess, that was a rough fight. I should have asked.”

She shakes her head against him, exhales warm over his sternum. “I-I was watching the Ladyblog. I was worried about you.”

Had Alya been there? He hadn’t seen, but the reporter may have finally learned her lesson and stayed out of sight. Whatever. He turns his head to inhale the warm vanilla scent of her shampoo, the cinnamon that clings to her hair, and the smell of her drying sweat. It’s entirely _her_ , and he drinks it in in eager gulps.

She’s not so easily calmed, and her fingers find his side, right over the bones that had cracked under the blow. The suits were nearly indestructible, but the body beneath was all-too-human, and he flinches instinctively.

“Sorry, I just—“ She hesitates, teeth catching and worrying her bottom lip. He frees one hand from the tangle he’s made of her shirt, uses his thumb to gently pull her chin down.

“It’s fine, Princess,” he breathes. “No need to apologize.”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. I mean—I want—“ she breaks off, fingers plucking at the material over his side. “I promise, I won’t look, just need to know.” She looks away, blush creeping up her cheeks, and his breath catches when he realizes exactly what she’s asking for.

“You don’t have to!” she gasps, gaze snapping to his face. “I shouldn’t have—sorry—“

“Turn out the lights?” he cuts her off, heart skipping in his chest. He could have just dropped his transformation, but something is stopping him. Some niggling doubt that he doesn’t want Marinette to know who he is. After all, how would she feel, knowing it’s her classmate Adrien lying on her floor, reluctantly untangling his legs from hers. He’ll have to tell her eventually, but not tonight.

Not yet.

She stands, wobbly, and a second later the room is plunged into darkness. He breaths a sigh and releases his transformation, catching a glimpse of her closed eyes before his night vision fades. There’s something utterly vulnerable about this, being so close to her without the suit, unable to see her any more than she can see him.

She knows her way around the room better than he does, and so he sits and waits for her, fingers tapping lightly at his side. When she reaches him she actually trips over his legs and lands in his lap with a noise somewhat like a hiccup.

His laugh cuts off as his fingers find their way into her hair. It’s soft, softer than he’d realized through the gloves, and he gently combs it while she catches her breath. Her hands wander, exploring the feeling of cotton and denim beneath her fingertips instead of his tough suit.

He holds still, letting her trail down to the base of his ribs. She pauses there, hands rising and falling with each expansion of his lungs. Then she moves lower, quickly hooking under the hem of his t-shirt. “Okay?”

He nods, leaning back and resting on his elbows, before remembering she can’t see him. “Y-yeah, okay.”

He’s not as confident as he normally is as Chat, but at the first light brush of her skin against his, he feels more exposed than ever before. But that’s fine because it’s _her_ , and nothing can feel wrong with her around. He hums as her hands flatten slowly against his stomach, fingers kneading lightly before she moves back up. She next comes to a rest just below his ribs, hesitating. He does his best not to wriggle under the slightly-ticklish touch, but eventually he has to shift.

She flinches, catching at his chest, and lets out a shuddering breath. “Sorry, I was scared.”

Now he sits back up, cautiously reaching out with one hand to locate her in the darkness, before he leans in to rest his lips against her forehead. Then he trails his fingers down to her wrist, pulls her hand up to his side, pressing her against whole, strong bones that had so recently been shattered. “I’m okay, Princess. I promise.”

She lets out a great sigh, fingers pressing like kisses, counting down his ribs. She repeats the process on the other side, and Adrien’s eyes drift shut. His hand works into her hair again, then on impulse he wraps both arms around her and tips over again, smiling at her quiet squeak.

“You make a good blanket,” he informs her, both hands now free to wrap around her back again.

She huffs at him, hot breath against the hollow of his throat, and suddenly pinches at his side just below his armpit.

“Hey!” he yelps. “What was that for?”

She grumbles low in her throat before answering. “That was for constantly getting yourself hurt. What do you think Ladybug would do without you, _Minou_? What do you think I’d—“ Her voice cracks, breaks, and he squeezes her tighter.

“I didn’t—I don’t—“ It’s not that he doesn’t care about himself, he does, it’s that Ladybug is _everything_ , how could he _not_ take hits for her? Finally he settles on, “I’m not going to let anything happen to me. If I did, who would look after you and Ladybug?”

“You need looking after,” she grumps at him, but seems to accept his answer as she pushes her nose into his neck. Her lips part against his throat, light chaste kisses pressed to his skin, and his hands find their way inside her shirt. It’s comforting, her breaths pushing her skin up against his fingertips, and the way her shirt rides up to expose just a bit of her stomach.

With the way she’s lying on top of him, her own hands tangled in his clothes, means they’re pressed together skin to skin for the first time. Were he transformed he’d definitely be purring, limp with relief and the soothing contact. He matches his breath to hers, calm and strong and steady. Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale.

Between one breath and the next he falls asleep.


	4. Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat puns. Cat puns everywhere. My a-paw-logies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited because my comp's running low on battery but I did it! I caught up!  
> Ahhh I can remember being fifteen and falling asleep on the floor and not waking up in excruciating pain in the morning.

Marinette wakes slowly, more comfortable than usual. At least, that’s what she thinks before she takes stock of the situation. She’s lying on her floor, cushioned on something warm. And breathing. And now that she thinks about it, there’s the sharp jut of a hip bone pressing into her thigh.

Her eyes blink open, and she catches sight of a dark t-shirt before she remembers. She fell asleep on the floor. _On top of_ Chat Noir.

A very much de-transformed, quietly snoring Chat Noir. And her hands are so far up his shirt that her fingers have curled over his shoulders.

She yelps and scrambles backwards, only barely remembering to clamp her eyes shut before she sees anything else. The cat grumbles and turns over in his sleep, his legs ending up across her lap, and she shakes at the near-disaster. She looks almost straight up, avoiding any possible temptation, and cracks open one eye.

Sunlight streams through her windows, and she can’t check what time it is without risking seeing him…

“Chat.” He mumbles something, legs twitching, and she reaches for what she thinks is his thigh to shake him ( _please don’t let me grope him by accident)_. “Chat, you have to wake up.”

He groans, snorts, and she shakes him harder. “ _Chat_!”

“Huz-uh-whaa—“ he suddenly jerks, a flailing shin making sharp contact with her stomach. “Shit, _Plagg_ , where are you?”

She shuts her eyes again as he flails, probably looking for his Kwami.

“Marinette, I’m sorry, I can explain, I didn’t want you to find out like this—“

“Calm down, _Chaton_ ,” she murmurs, reaching out a hand in the direction of his voice. “I didn’t see anything.”

He lets out a shaking breath, fingers threading through her own. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, and she jumps when he presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

She smiles at him, and he slips away from her. “Plagg, get out here right now!”

That’s how he talks to his Kwami?

“Plagg, we have to go! If you don’t get out here, no cheese for a week!”

There’s a rustle from the direction of her bed, and Marinette squeaks. _Please don’t let him find Tikki…_

But Chat is pounding across her floor, still well away from the little bug’s hiding spot. “There you are!”

“Why are you being so loud? I’m tired.” The petulant little voice makes Marinette smile to herself. “Are you done being gross then?”

“ _Plagg._ I need to transform.”

“Wait, c’mon, it’s too early, Ad—“

Marinette yelps and covers her ears, but she can still hear Chat’s voice, high with panic—“ _Transforme moi!_ ”

There’s a long silence, and she cautiously opens her eyes. Her kitten is once again standing in front of her, nervously shifting from foot to foot. She sighs with relief and moves to hug him.

He steps back, looking around for the first time. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to oversleep. I didn’t mean to sleep at all, actually.”

She laughs at his sheepish expression. “It’s fine, _Chaton_ , it’s Saturday so—“ she chokes, gulps, buries her hands in her hair. “Oh my god it’s Saturday! Alya’s coming over! What time is it?”

He pulls out his baton, checks the time. “About 7.”

“Okay. Okay, we have half an hour before she’ll be here.” Marinette almost slumps to the ground with relief. “But you should leave.”

He hesitates, mouth twisting with something she can’t read. “That early? Does she not sleep or something?”

“Alya doesn’t know how to really appreciate weekends,” Marinette grumbles, turning away from him. “You still need to leave. If Alya sees you here she’ll have _kittens_!”

She realizes what she said a second too late, spinning on her heel and pointing a shaking finger at him. His disbelieving smile is just starting, but it stretches into a shit-eating grin as she watches. “Chat, don’t you dare—“

“ _Kittens_ , you say.” He stalks closer, absolute delight in every feature.

“I didn’t mean—it wasn’t on purpose!” she wails, closed fist lightly impacting against his shoulder as soon as he’s within reach.

“I’m so _purr_ -oud of you, _Purr-_ incesse.”

“Stop!”

He pouts at her, eyes wide. “Really? But there’s an _ocelot_ more where that came from.”

“You’re horrible.” She shoves at him half-heartedly, then ducks under his arm toward her lounge.

“Now you’ve gone and _leopard_ to conclusions. How do you know my puns won’t be _hiss_ -terical?”

“I hate you!” She can’t help the way her lips twitch upwards, and of course he notices it.

“Ha, I see that smile! I’d say that’s a clear case of _claws_ and effect.”

“Hate you!” she repeats, with as much venom as she can muster (none at all, really).

He blinks, sticks out his bottom lip. “Why are you _lion_? You know you lo—“

_Whump._

The pillow from her lounge effectively cuts him off, and he sputters in surprise. She can’t help but laugh at the flabbergasted look on his face.

He recovers fairly quickly, grinning back at her, and she yanks her weapon in close as he makes a grab for it. “Aw, Princess, I’m just _kitten_ with you.”

She yells in anguish and smacks him again. He growls playfully and launches himself at her. She shrieks, stumbles back, turns a trip over her lounge into a tumble out of his reach. He goes down on all fours to pursue her, and she brings the pillow down on the back of his head before he can reach her. He’s disoriented but his momentum still sends him cannoning into her, her pillow flying from her grasp, knocking both of them to the ground and effectively disarming her.

“Now I have you at my _mrrr_ -cy,” he purrs, leaning down and breathing light over her lips. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

She wriggles half-heartedly, and whines when he draws back and avoids her kiss. “Chat—“

He hums acknowledgment, one finger under her chin. She mewls, arches under him, and his eyes light up. “Wait, I know.”

Without warning his hands drop to her sides, digging into the dip at the base of her ribs and she _screams_. “No stop that tickles don’t—“

She dissolves in breathless laughter as his hands run up her sides, and as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot she squeals and bucks under him. She catches a glimpse of the surprise on his face as he’s knocked sideways, and she quickly takes advantage of his unbalanced position. With a wriggle and a flip she lands on top of him, pinning his wrists about his head.

“I win,” she pants, leaning down to kiss him quiet when he starts to retort. “No. No more puns from you,” she growls against his lips, and he smiles into the kiss.

She hums, cautiously parts her lips—and jerks at the unmistakeable sound of a phone camera shutter. She lurches up and away, managing to knee him in the stomach in the process, and finds herself face to face with her best friend.

Alya is speechless, mouth hanging open as her gaze flicks between Marinette’s messy hair, disordered clothes, and the superhero who’s slowly sitting up, clutching his abdomen. Her phone dangles limply from her fingers.

For long moments all three stare at each other, before Chat finally breaks the silence. “What was it you were saying about kittens?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *thinks about Plagg saying "but I am le tired" and giggles for three solid days*


	5. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien is not actually a Disney prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only two weeks late, don't rush me don't rush me! Seriously though, I apologize for the delay, but there was some seriously massive life upheaval that's still kinda going on, so it really couldn't be helped.

“Princess, please let me in?” Chat’s breath mists on the glass of her trapdoor, and he leans back to let it clear. Below him, sprawled out on her bed, scribbling in her sketchbook, Marinette shows no sign of having heard him at all.

He taps the glass, scratches at the frame, and tries again. “Princess, I said I was sorry.”

He can see the way her legs tense, even under her loose capris, and he presses his luck. “Please let me in? I have something for you. Please?” he whines, and scratches again.

She finally looks up, if only to glare at him, and he perks up instantly. “Princess?”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her drawing, lips thin. He droops, does his best to look as contrite as possible. Ears down, eyes wide, tail literally and metaphorically tucked between his legs. “Marinette, please? I miss you.”

She huffs, and he claws at the wood again. “I want to come in!”

He flops over dramatically onto his side, paws pathetically at the unmoving latch. If only there was a bit of rain, so he could look a bit wet and bedraggled, then she’d open up. But no such luck tonight, there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

He pouts, bats halfheartedly at the latch again. All dramatics aside, he really is lonely tonight. He hadn’t realized just how much so until he’d tried to sleep in his empty bed, without the sound of her breath and the pulse of her heart. A purr rumbles in his chest, symptom of stress and self-comfort in one, and he settles to wait as long as necessary.

That ends up being not long at all, as the door under him shifts minutely, and he scrambles to his paws. “Princess?”

The way she’s looking at him is less-than-promising, but she _is_ looking at him. He grins, reaches for her, and her eyes narrow.

“You _left_ me this morning.”

He can feel the way his ears flatten, and does nothing to hide his shame.

“You _ditched_ me and I had to explain to Alya why I was straddling _le Chat Noir_ with my shorts half pulled off!”

He knows he goes red, and splutters, “Wait, your shorts? I didn’t—I mean—I—“

She jabs a finger at him, and he recoils instinctively. “You _did._ When you jumped me, and I don’t know how you didn’t notice and I didn’t notice but _Alya_ did and—gah!”

She growls, and he leans forward again tentatively. “I really didn’t mean to, and I really am sorry.”

She harrumphs and looks away. He reaches to the side, retrieves his gift he’d left forgotten when faced with a locked door. “I brought you chocolate?”

Her eyes flicker rapidly between the treat and his face, before she apparently reaches a decision. Much faster than he expects, her hand flashes out to grab the candy, and she disappears back into her room, door slamming shut behind her.

_And we’re back to square one._

He tips over again. “Princess, please? I’ll make it up to you. Please?”

She looks up at him through the glass, eyes narrowed. He mushes his face against the window, giving her the full force of his kitten eyes. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He can see the exact moment she makes up her mind, the way her mouth sets and eyes focus, and he rolls out of the way as she reaches for the door. She opens it a mistrustful two inches, eyeing him suspiciously. “How exactly do you plan to make it up to me, kitty.”

He offers her a hand up. “Do you trust me?”

She lets out a _snort_ , covers her mouth and collapses down onto her bed. He catches the door and cocks his head in confusion as she folds up, panting through her nose as she tries to regain control of herself. “What?”

She closes her eyes, turns her face into her bedspread, takes several deep breaths. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, kitty, but we’re not in a Disney movie, and you’re more of an street cat than a prince.”

It takes him a long minute to make the connection she had, and he grins. “Princess,” he croons, leaning forward through the open trap door. “I could be a prince for you.”

She blinks at him, unsuspecting, and he takes a deep breath.

“ _I can show you the world—“_

He can sing, when he so chooses, but not with any volume or force, or he loses control of the tune.

“ _Shining, shimmering, splendid—“_

But now he does not so choose, and he belts out the song with as much enthusiasm and tremulous bad notes as possible.

“ _Tell me Princess, now when did you last let your heart deciiiide—“_

She’s staring up at him in amused disbelief, and at that line finally shushes him. “ _Chaton_ , they’re going to think a cat’s dying up here.”

He pushes the trapdoor further open, free hand pressed to his heart as he continues.

“ _I can open your eyes, take you wonder by wonder! Over, sideways and—_ mmph!”

Her (surprisingly strong) arms circle around his chest and she tips backwards, hauling him down to land with a massive thump on the bed. The door slams shut inches behind his trailing feet, and he yelps, trying to scramble off her. She won’t let him go, arms tightening around his back as she shakes her head, rubbing her nose against his chest.

“You are the most ridiculous, awful, annoying tomcat. And I love you.”

He stops squirming sharply, slowly adjusting so his elbows press to the bed on either side of her head. He doesn’t dare ask, because what if he’d heard wrong? What if she hadn’t really meant it? That’s what he’d wanted all along, wasn’t it? Someone to love him in the same bright blinding _pure_ way he loves Marinette and Ladybug?

She goes still underneath him, probably feeling the way he tenses. (Of course she does, he’s currently squashing her into her sweet-smelling sheets.) “Chat?”

It’s the hesitance in her voice that spurs him out of his thoughts. He raises himself up on his elbows, looking down into wide blue eyes.

“Sorry, _Chaton_ , I should’ve—“

“I love you,” he interrupts, eyes searching her face for a reaction. “I love you I love you I love you I—“

Her eyes light up, her smile widens, and she lets out a giddy laugh, cutting him off with a hand over his mouth. “ _Chaton, Chaton,_ breathe.”

He does, then ducks his head to tuck it against the side of her neck, purr rumbling loud in his chest as her fingers card through his hair. “I love you, _Chaton_.”

He doesn’t have words, but he pushes closer and purrs harder, hoping she understands everything he’s choking on. She seems to, continuing to lazily comb her fingers through his hair, and slowly he realizes that he’s shaking. Her other hand comes up to his back, rubbing soothing circles against his tremors.

“If I’d known how much of a reaction that would get, I wouldn’t have said it at midnight,” she says lightly, and he huffs a weak laugh against her throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…fall apart.” She doesn’t know, doesn’t know just how much she means to him, how very empty his life is outside of school and being Chat Noir, she can’t know how long it’s been since he’s heard those words. He moves, nudging his nose into the hair behind her ear, where the vanilla scent is strongest.

She giggles, making no move to stop him. “Cute as you are, _Chaton_ , you still owe me.”

“Hmm.” He’s limp with relief and bliss, and he’ll agree to anything she asks right now.

“Do you know what Alya did?”

“Hmm.” He shakes his head, relaxing into her even more.

“ _Chaton_ , she tried to give me the sex talk.”

“Hmm—what?!” He lurches up and away, scandalized. “We don’t—she knows we haven’t, we—“

She giggles, leans up to kiss him quiet. “That’s what I told her, but it still took an hour to get her to drop it.”

He winces in sympathy. “I’ll bring you chocolate every day for a _month_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to note that I did write this before Princess Fragrance happened, and I mean, honestly, 99% of people's singing sounds like awful screeching noise to me (autism sound sensitivities yay). But I seriously almost died at his singing in that so I'm going to keep to my headcanon that Adrien is a terrible, awful singer.


	6. Don't Touch Him!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even superheroes need help sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quietly sliiides 'identity reveal' tag onto my fic*

Chat Noir hadn’t ever given much thought to how he might die. His father hadn’t managed to instill enough paranoia to overwhelm the adolescent assurance in his own immortality. Maybe it had occurred to him that getting between every fresh Akuma and his Lady wasn’t exactly a recipe for longevity, but he brushed it off. Between him and Ladybug nothing _that_ bad could ever happen, right? They were _superheroes_ after all, and everyone knows superheroes will always win.

So he was not at all expecting to have to seriously contemplate his own fragility as his vision fades in and out and his bones creak protest against the pressure crushing him from all sides.

It was his own stupid, impulsive fault, of course. He’d charged straight at the Akuma without waiting for backup. He’d made himself a target, dancing just out of its reach, taunting, joking, distracting. He hadn’t expected the speed of the naga’s muscular tail, or the force it could exert.

So now here he is, dangling limply three feet above the floor, snapped halves of his baton somewhere underneath the massive scaly coils of the snake, making silent mental promises to something, anything that might be listening. If he just gets out of this alive he’ll tell Ladybug and Marinette everything, he’ll be a better friend, a better partner, he’ll even listen to every rule his father lays down for him, _please—_

The Akuma hisses, loosening its grip just enough that he can take in small sips of air. “Tomcat jumped in to save his pretty girlfriend. What a silly cat. Now his Miraculous is mine.”

He tries to lift his head, tries to smirk, tries to respond because _seriously who talks like that?_ and just gives a small whistling exhale. Because it’s right, he’d spotted Marinette in harm’s way, shoving Alya away from danger, and he’d charged in without a second’s thought.

The naga brings its captive up closer to its scaly face, comically small human arms reaching for his ring. It’s so intent that it doesn’t hear the light footsteps creeping up behind it, doesn’t turn when a shattered piece of brick crumbles beneath her slight weight.

But Chat hears everything. He looks the Akuma straight in the eye, refusing to let his gaze flicker to his rescuer and give her away—and with the last of his strength sinks his claws into the scaly flesh of its hand.

The thing gives a shuddering, hissing screech, rearing back, and that’s just the opportunity she needs. Chat lets his head fall forward, black dots dancing in his vision, unable even to cry out as the snake coils tighter—tighter—and suddenly releases him.

Luckily he was being held right side up so he hits the ground legs first, before collapsing limply, chest heaving as he fights to re-expand his lungs. But now he has a full view of the fight, of the frail string looped around the Akuma’s neck, of the determined expression on Marinette’s face as she savagely yanks her tiny purse strap tighter.

No. No no no _no_ she’s supposed to be far away, not overlapping with this part of his life—

The Akuma thrashes, and her little bag finally breaks. She leaps away from its writhing body with surprising agility, sprinting to his side. Frantic hands pat at his face, his chest, his neck, checking for signs of life, and he finally forces in an inhale under her touch.

Her own breath escapes sharply, and he can’t tell if it’s relief or annoyance. “Minou, you’re okay,” she breathes, and he forces a lopsided smile, lips still numb and cold from oxygen deprivation.

Behind her the Akuma has freed itself from the tattered remains of her bag, and his eyes widen. She reacts faster than he could have hoped, but she doesn’t run. Instead she whips around, crouches protectively, _ferally_ over his prone body, and _snarls_ at the Akuma.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch him again!”

He tries to protest, a croaking noise dying in his battered throat, and she places a calming hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, _Chaton_ ,” she mutters, not looking down at him again. In fact, she seems to be avoiding his gaze, and he has a split second to wonder why before—

“Tikki, _transforme moi!_ ”


	7. Purring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette’s positive she ruined everything. She’d lied to her best friend, her partner, the boy she loved, and she’d ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up more Adrinette than Marichat but still. Wow. I'm done. I actually finished a thing. Amazing.

Chat doesn’t show up on her balcony for two full weeks. Marinette can’t decide if the lack of Akuma in that time span is lucky or not. She’s not sure at all how she could look her partner in the face, after she’d so dramatically revealed herself.

He’s probably angry, and she can’t blame him. She’d let him think she was two separate people all summer, had continued to shut down his flirtations as Ladybug, then turned around and kissed him as Marinette.

After that Akuma fight (an aggravated construction worker calling himself Boa Constructor) she’d run. She’d turned away from Chat Noir as he picked himself off the floor, and she’d run. She more than half expected to hear him behind her as she zipped as fast as she could for home, as she dropped heavily onto her balcony just as her transformation dissolved. But when she turned around there was no sign of him.

Now, two Saturdays later, she’s positive she ruined everything. She’d lied to her best friend, her partner, the boy she loved, and she’d ruined everything. She doesn’t check her balcony anymore, she’d stopped leaving out cookies when they only attracted pigeons.

After being reduced to tears when a design just wouldn’t cooperate with her, she ends up taking out her frustration on computer-controlled opponents on MechaStrike III. She’s turned the volume up as high as she can without disturbing her parents, and she’s completely blind to the world around her when Tikki suddenly zooms up in her face.

Marinette yelps, arms locking out straight against her desk and knocking her chair over backwards. “Tikki, was that really necessary?” she asks from the floor, one leg caught over the tipped over seat. There’s a dull blooping noise as the computer takes advantage of her robot’s sudden lethargy and smashes it to pieces. “Look, you made me lose.”

Tikki wrings her tiny hands, looking unsure, and Marinette immediately feels bad for her outburst. “I know it must be important, so—“

Her Kwami’s eyes flicker up towards the trapdoor above her loft, and Marinette’s mouth goes dry. “Thanks, Tikki,” she breathes, rolling to her feet and pounding up the ladder.

She flings the door open with more force than really necessary, getting herself a face-full of late summer rain, and spills out onto her balcony as she trips over her own feet. Strong arms catch her, apparently more instinctive than anything else, then he lets go as if burned. She steps back hurriedly, avoiding looking at him as she curls protectively into herself. “Hey, _Chaton_.”

He lets out a brittle laugh. “Hello, my Lady.”

She flinches at the nickname, looks up at him, and gasps. “ _Chaton_ , how long have you been out here?” He’s soaked, hair plastered to his head and his tail trailing miserably in a puddle.

She doesn’t think, just reaches for him with one hand and for her door with the other. “Come inside, you’re going to make yourself sick!”

He obeys without resistance, carefully avoiding her bed as he drops down into her room. She turns away, heading for the ladder and her bathroom, and freezes when a hand lands on her shoulder.

“Wait.” He almost whispers it, and she breaks. She turns around with a gasp and launches herself at him, catching him tight around his middle and sending both of them staggering backwards. His arms come up around her and she ignores the cold water dripping down the side of her neck because he’s wonderfully solid against her, breath sobbing in his chest and hot over her hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I should have, I was just…scared.”

He squeezes her tighter, forcing a squeak from her throat. “I-I think I understand,” he murmurs.

Completely unexpectedly she feels a familiar tingling running up her front, from where her thighs are pressed against his up to her hands clenched tight between his shoulder blades, and only then does she realize what’s happening. She clamps her eyes shut. “Kitty, wait—“

His nervous chuckle shakes against her chest, and he leans back a bit. “I should’ve told you too but I—Marinette?”

She further scrunches up her face, pulling him back in to bury her nose in the hollow of his throat. “ _Chaton_ , you don’t have too—I showed you because I was ready. You don’t owe me.”

His arms go slack around her shoulders, and unexpectedly he _laughs_. Laughs full and hard and long and strangely familiar.

She resists the urge to nip the skin against her lips. “What’s so funny?”

“You—you didn’t—I had this whole scene planned out and you wouldn’t look at me.” He pushes against her shoulders, forcing her away from his jumping pulse, and cups her cheeks in his hands (was his skin this soft before? She can’t remember). “Marinette, I want you to see.”

She bites her lip, trying to ground on the pain, stop the trembling that shakes her to the core.

“I don’t feel forced. I’ve wanted to tell you. Please?”

Hesitantly she squints open one eye—and yelps. “You’ve—I— _Adrien_?”

He ducks his head, smiles sheepishly. “Hi.”

She stares at him for long moments, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips to his drenched hair, and suddenly breaks into hysterics.

“Princess?”

He sounds so _concerned_ as she folds over, unsure herself whether she’s laughing or crying. “Marinette, what—“

“We…are…so… _stupid_ ,” she gasps out, tipping slowly over until she’s curled on her side on her bed, tears leaking between her lashes. “I was feeling so guilty for betraying Adrien, even though I couldn’t get a coherent sentence out around him—you—“

He stays quiet, apparently unsure what to do, and finally she recovers, muscles slowly slackening until she’s lying limp, staring into space. “I can’t believe how stupid we’ve been.”

He crouches down in front of her, and she’s struck by how simultaneously similar and different his personas are. Adrien moves with significantly more control than Chat, contained and subtle, but the pose itself is so very Chat-like. He reaches out hesitantly, and she laces her fingers through his. “Plagg has been telling me that for the past two weeks. He actually volunteered to transform to come see you tonight.”

“Only because I couldn’t take any more pining,” the same little voice from before complains, and Marinette jumps. Craning her head, she can see the little black sprite perched on the head of her cat pillow, the flash of tiny teeth as he yawns. “Boring. Ladybug, do you have any cheese?”

She breaks into giggles as Adrien hisses, “ _Plagg_ not now. You’re the _worst_.”

Plagg makes a disgruntled sound and zooms off under the loft to find Tikki, and Marinette stuffs her fingers in her mouth to muffle her laughter.

Adrien’s gaze moves from her face to their intertwined hands, then he suddenly tips forward to push his head against her fingers. “Missed you.”

Her heart jumps at the achingly familiar gesture. She frees herself from his grasp to bury her fingers in his hair. “Come here, _Chaton_.”

She suddenly has a lap-full of teenage boy, arms tight around her chest, face pressed into her neck, and she sighs contentedly. Then a distinct vibration rumbles into life beneath her hands, and she looks down at him in surprise.

He seems oblivious, snuggling closer, and she laughs delightedly. “I can’t believe you still purr!”

The noise sputters to a stop and his head jolts up, expression mortified, and she takes advantage to lean forward for a kiss. He meets her halfway, a feline noise of contentment lost between their lips, and Marinette smiles.

They’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe I actually finished a thing, and I'm actually quite content with where it ended up.  
> I still need prompts/ideas for Alyanette April, hmu on tumblr: konekorambles


End file.
